I could feel the tension, and rather desperately and suddenly wanted out of that conversation. My sudden thought was that she didn't need to hear anything I had to say--had more than likely been thinking about all of that for over three thousand years--and words were not helpful, and gestures were out of the question.
"Look, I'm just saying, he may have had reasons, that's all. Reasons--not excuses...I'm not trying to excuse..."
"You damn well are!" she exploded. "And you were trying the last time I saw you, too. It's pathological with you, isn't it? Trying to see things in the best light, trying to be understanding--don't you understand that what they were was wrong? They were killers, and they were more than that...more."
I stared at her in shock. My mouth hung open. Of course I knew. I'm not stupid. She had said exactly the wrong thing with me, more than likely the way I was saying the wrong things with her.
"I can understand that--okay? They raped...they killed. That was what they did--understood. Okay? And I understand that what they did to you was horrendous--again, understood. But your head could have been taken if you meant nothing. And you have survived. And as far as knowing what they were--you knew what they were--so how they treated you was a part of *what they were*, Cassandra. A mortal woman would have been useless to them--would have died--real death. Okay? Real, rotting, death. You could take it. That's was what they saw in you--Methos valued it. Kronos valued it. I'm not going to say, 'Oh they were lonely.' That's disgusting. But..." I trembled. "They were men....I mean, human. Human emotions...somewhere in there, no matter how it played out. There are reasons."
"And there are reasons why you have to lie to yourself, aren't there?" she asked me, with emotion in her voice. I glared, and then turned.
"I'm not having this conversation--you don't know me. You don't know anything about me...and I don't care if you ever know anything about me. We're in this...together, or not." I went into my bedroom, and tore through my closet. I didn't even know what I was looking for--I was just
trying to be busy. I couldn't even stand looking at her. I cursed at myself for saying anything, and cursed at her. Lying to myself? I couldn't wrap my head around that one.
I looked up, and there she was, standing in the door way. I could see her, even through the film of irrational tears I was developing.
"Kronos wanted you because you were the same...your words," she said, and I could tell she was forcing the emotion out of her voice, now--trying to keep her tone with me level. "You don't even remember that clearly, do you? You don't..."
"Cass...shut up. I close my eyes--and I see visions of stuff that didn't even happen to me. I have dreams about things that aren't my life--okay? I reminded him of someone else. I am...not...going to bring that up right now. I wanted to die and he wanted me to live...he forced my life on me. He didn't rape me because...do you know what I was? Drunk out of my skull. I *don't* remember it clearly. I didn't see it as any different from any other anonymous pick-up...except that I was drunk, and I wasn't going to get paid....except by him putting a knife into me. Okay? Here it is...I wanted it. I asked for it. I wanted him to kill me--and what did I get? I get the extreme pleasure of being Immortal. Fighting to the death. Enjoying your very pleasant company, and feeling like I have to defend myself every freaking minute of it. That's what I got. So just, shut up."
Kronos, running the knife over my skin, telling me I'd be a very good student. Methos...trying to teach me, but being so frustrated with me he couldn't even speak. My father, holding the knife on me--"What do you do?" My husband's clenched fists--when I waited, knowing full well I could kill him if he tried anything. No--I *don't* remember everything clearly--and I don't want to.
God, what would that help?
"Fine. I'll shut up--it doesn't change anything. Just so that you know--it doesn't change anything. I'm going out to the car."
I bit back an unhelpful sound, and then said--"You're still in it with me."
"Yes." And then she turned around and left.
"Talking about it doesn't change anything, either," I muttered, to no one in particular, and then remember it was the earrings I was after. And a spare trench coat--just in case. Because they are very prone to punctures and rips.
Posted on Aug 13, 2000, 11:24 AM from IP address 172.166.245.84